Thursday, Sep 15, 2011 - Vegas Playboy Club

Tomcat's throwing up. I'm hurting. Barely made it on time to the annoyingly juvenile conference meeting. Got griped out publicly but generally for cutting out the night before. Fuck 'em...it was worth it.

Tomcat skipped out again and kept getting sick. Missed the rest of the meeting. I think he might be killing himself with his drinking. Hate to see him go that way.

I stayed for the meeting but plugged in my laptop and finished the final book edit along with the website layout. Then I called in to a conference call with Tony Robbins and Chet Holmes. PHENOMENAL STUFF. I think I'm going to outsource my business development to their new consulting firm. Incredible marketing expertise and strategies.

Meeting over...must sleep.

45 min nap. Then down to the pool. Mr. Olympia contest starts in Vegas today. Bodybuilders, fitness pros, and bikini models EVERYWHERE.

Lessons in humility...lounge by the pool in a speedo around that fucking crowd!

Had some drinks with Tomcat by the cabana. Gotta quit that if I want him to live. Then this old cougar made me want to vomit by insisting on dancing by me but then seizing the opportunity to drop it like its hot and grind her flabby old twat on my knee. And I thought the hookers were nasty. In that moment any thought I may have once had about ever being comfortable making a living as a gigolo was instantly and permanently quelled...make that obliterated with extreme prejudice. I had to leave. Nauseous.

Next...out on the town. Headed for a stand up comedy show and then the Playboy Club.

I looked pretty good I thought. The hookers at the Playboy club apparently agreed wholeheartedly...right up until they figured out there wasn't a chance in heaven or hell that I was gonna so much as buy them a fucking drink, much less pay them to squish my condom-wrapped cock into their fully reamed and undoubtedly diseased pussies.

Comedy club was wretched. One really funny guy but the blonde chick who's on Chelsea Lately from time to time was the "headliner." Somebody really should have just stopped her. I don't get how anybody could be that bad at thei job. It was excruciating.

Pretty sure minimum of 90% of the girls at the PB club were hookers. They literally had a special, dedicated escalator that shuttled them up nonstop in clusters...like herpes sores.

The music was insane...pounding, deafening, awesome. Every once in a while this cool jazz cat would jump up on a stage and wail out face-ripper trumpet solos.

Left at 3. Tomcat had become pretty intolerable in his drunkenness. I wasn't any better off. I hadn't eaten 400 calories all day. Coffee, beef jerky, some lunch meat, and a few shrimp. Six double vodka redbulls and $25 more of that blitzkrieg blow in me and I was fuhhhried!